


Silver Hair and Violet Eyes; Violet Hair and White Lies

by hangrybluewhale



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: #complicated relationships, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:54:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hangrybluewhale/pseuds/hangrybluewhale
Summary: Rohanne of Tyrosh, and her thoughts on the Blackfyre cause.





	Silver Hair and Violet Eyes; Violet Hair and White Lies

She sends her boys off to war under banners of red and black, championing their father’s righteous cause. 

 

They are dragons, dragons with their silver hair and violet eyes, even if they do not truly bear the  _ Targaryen  _ name. 

 

But what does it matter? Their father bears the sword his kingly forebears did, has wielded it with pride since he was a mere twelve year old. 

 

“The true steel,” Aegor Rivers claims, dark, determined anger in those fierce purple eyes, as he sits astride a warhorse, black as the dragon on the Blackfyre banner; though Aegor had always worn the sobriquet “Bittersteel” with pride. 

“Valyrian steel. Our true king!” He hails, to cheers of adoration from the men in the field, though Rohanne of Tyrosh cannot help but note the apprehension, beneath the roars of support and cries to spill Daeron the Falseborn’s traitor’s blood. She knows that the last war council had not gone smoothly, despite Daemon’s charisma and attempts to smooth over the messy claims several Reacher houses had to the title of Lord Paramount, and that there is disunity between some of Daemon’s strongest supporters. 

 

She does not know what Daemon intends to do about it though. She has not been privy to much of his private thoughts and concerns for a long time, not since Daemon decided to garner support by waging this war in the name of another woman, who was not the wife that had borne him sons and daughters. 

 

Rohanne had never met Daenerys Targaryen, though singers far and wide made much and more of her famed beauty. 

In Westeros, Rohanne knew that if anyone sang of her at all, it would be as an afterthought, or worse: a witch that bound Daemon, kept him chained down, unable to pursue his great love with his half-sister. 

She hoped Daenerys Targaryen was happy at the Water Gardens, the pink marble palace that her Martell husband had built for her. It might have given Rohanne a vindictive sort of satisfaction, to know that the gods denied Daemon his happiness when he had shamed her so and robbed her of any joy she might have had in their own union. 

 

Rohanne tugged at stray strands of hair that had escaped their carefully done braids. She had dyed her hair violet when she married Daemon, to match the bright colour of his eyes, and honour the culture of her own people, despite the mutters and disapproval she met from some of the Westerosi. 

Later, she would keep dyeing her hair violet, not out of love for Daemon but to remind him —and herself, sometimes—that she was his lawfully wedded wife, and the mother of his heirs. 

“It’s just a lie, Rohanne,” Daemon had whispered, taking her hand in his. They were alone in his tent. The candles were burning low, but even in the dim light she could see the tapestries and abundance of black dragon motifs on the walls, the carpets; roaring defiance in a field of blood. She wrenched it away from his grasp, stepping back away from him. “And yet you still plan to wed her, if or when you win the Iron Throne?”

 

He gave her a rueful smile. “It would be rather odd if I did not, given how I proclaimed her to be my true love.” Seeing the look of fury on her face, he raised his hands quickly in a placating gesture. At his hip, Blackfyre rattled softly in its scabbard —Daemon only removed his sword belt before going to bed, and never let it out of his sight. “It is a... white lie, Rohanne. One that has brought gallant young fools drunk on tales of romance running to my banners to pledge their allegiance to me. I need their swords. Our boys—” Daemon strode forward, closing the gap between them. He took both her hands in his. “—The Iron Throne will be theirs, after I am dead. I wage this war in Daenerys’ name, but our son,  _ our  _ Aegon, will be heir. Nothing can change that. Not even if I have any children by Daenerys. I swear it on Blackfyre.”   

Rohanne hated that, on the morrow, she would bid her eldest sons goodbye before they rode off beside their father to meet the loyalists in battle. Daemon had not been concerned about letting his “heir and spare” join him in the fight, at risk of being killed. 

 

“I was twelve when I won Blackfyre,” he said confidently, “and these boys, young though they may be, are your children too, Rohanne. They’ll be as bold and fierce as their mother.” 

Rohanne glared at him. “Keep them  _ safe,  _ my king.” She saw Daemon’s eyes widen: she had never addressed him as a king before this day. “Acts of valor and empty chivalry mean nothing if my sons lose their lives fighting.”

 

She would not be there to send them off, she knew. Instead she would remain in a tent, under guard. Daemon could not be seen bidding a loving farewell to his wife if he truly pined for another. 

 

Daemon was solemn. “They will be at my side for the battle. I will protect them.” 

 

_ Another lie, then.  _ She thinks, when their army —rebels now, every man of them— is flung into chaos when Daemon and his sons are slain by arrows, rained down upon them by the Raven’s Teeth. Aegon was the first to die, she hears, and the grief claws her heart open even as she curses Daemon for his failure to protect their sons, and  _ screams  _ at the pain and betrayal she had endured for so long, that left her with nothing.

 

Nothing but memories of ghosts and empty promises swept away, cast aside by the wind. 


End file.
